Scrapes
by The Seven of Us
Summary: For better or worse, Healer Malfoy seems to be there whenever Harry gets into his newest scrape. What was that? What, rivalry? No, there's no rivalry here. No, none at all. Of course not. Move along, you crazy idea. Where did you get "rivalry" from, anyway? NOT SLASH. Oneshot. By Ruby.


**For better or worse, Healer Malfoy seems to be there whenever Harry gets into his newest scrape. What was that? What, rivalry? No, there's no rivalry here. No, none at all. Of course not. Move along, you crazy idea. Where did you get "rivalry" from, anyway? NOT SLASH.**

… **this…would not leave me alone. Like, really. I'm swamped with five different papers and I have a plot bunny in the middle of it that won't let me freaking** _ **sleep**_ **.**

 **Anyway. Enjoy!**

* * *

When twenty-year-old Harry woke, he half-expected to see King's Cross again. Waking up in a hospital seemed rather anticlimactic.

"Good, you're awake."

Harry whipped his head around so fast he got dizzy for a moment. "… _Malfoy?_ "

"What, didn't expect to see me?" Malfoy asked dryly.

"No," Harry responded honestly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm training to be a Healer, why else do you think I'm wearing scrubs?" Malfoy said sarcastically, waving his wand in the first figure-eight of a diagnostic charm. "You've probably got a headache, and I wouldn't be surprised if your leg was killing you. Any other points of interest that I should know about?"

Harry was a little thrown, blinking rapidly as he tried to assimilate it while he considered his body. "Uh…er, I don't have a headache, but yeah, my leg hurts a little."

"Should have known," Malfoy muttered. "Well, whether or not you've got a headache, you still have a concussion of epic proportions. No Floo and no Portkeys recommended unless you want to barf upon reentry, and Apparition is likely to take your nonexistent headache and make it into a migraine. Your leg is still setting the bones back into place and knitting them back together, so I think that all of St. Mungo's staff would appreciate it if you stayed off of it for another four hours. However, if you absolutely have to, there's a brace right there that will keep the weight off of it if you have to run. And Potter, if you use that brace, I expect there to have been a disaster akin to Hogwarts at the end of sixth year. Got it?"

"So…four hours, and I can leave?" Harry said suspiciously.

Malfoy was checking something on a chart that Harry didn't understand, but grey eyes flipped up to meet Harry's green ones. Exasperation and amusement flickered there. "You forget, Potter, that I was regaled with stories about your escapades from the Hospital Wing at least twice a month. I am quite aware that you hate hospitals."

It was the most that he'd heard Malfoy say in one sitting, quite honestly. Harry didn't doubt that he had a concussion, because a semi-nice Malfoy was harder to comprehend than it should have been.

"…Okay," Harry said, for lack of anything better to say.

Malfoy left without another word.

Harry thought that his bedside manner could definitely use some work, but at least he wasn't falling over Harry.

* * *

When Malfoy came back in two hours later, he was balancing a sandwich plate on one hand and holding a glass of water with the other.

"You haven't made a break for it yet," Malfoy said, very obviously in a worse mood than when he had left.

"You know, just because trouble follows me around like a lost puppy doesn't mean that I purposefully throw myself in harm's way," Harry said irritably, flipping a page of the book that he was reading. "And by the way, thank you for the brace. I thumped a reporter with it."

Malfoy almost dropped the plate. The next bed's occupant let out a snort of laughter, pulled up the warm sheets to cover his head, and turned over.

"You did _what_ with the brace?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

"A reporter snuck in. He started pestering me. I grabbed the brace. I thumped him with it until he left. It's got a nice long reach, did you know that?"

The blond set the plate down on Harry's lap, and the glass of water on the stand next to him. "No, Potter, I didn't know that. I'm not sure if I wanted to know that, either."

Harry shrugged. "Sorry," said he, sounding not at all repentant.

"Eat your sandwich," Malfoy growled.

* * *

Another two hours passed, and Harry was climbing out of bed and searching for his things when Malfoy came back in. He was muttering things like "bedside manner" and "vivisections" and "spoon".

Harry muffled a laugh and kept his mouth shut.

"Granger is here to pick you up," growled Malfoy. "I've sent the list of potions that you'll need to take over the next three days to both Granger and the Weasley matriarch."

Harry blanched.

Malfoy smirked for half a second before continuing. "I've sent your boss a note saying that you're on desk duty for the next two days. And if you complain, I can just as easily turn it into a week."

Harry shut his mouth with an audible _click_ of teeth.

"Any questions?" Malfoy asked.

"Where are my shoes?"

"Binned. They were in shreds. Not at all surprised that you didn't realize that you ran your feet into bloody ribbons," Malfoy said sourly. "Get some decent shoes, for Merlin's sake. Next question?"

Harry considered him. "You might not be a Death Eater, but forgive me if I don't revise my 'evil' classification. No one deserves having both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley on their back."

"Thank you very much, Potter," Malfoy said primly.

"That wasn't a compliment, you git," Harry said, exasperated.

Malfoy surveyed him in the manner of royalty. "It depends on your point of view."

Harry looked at him levelly. "Then I may have to change your classification to 'fluffy bunny'."

Malfoy actually looked revolted, and Harry snickered as he ran out the door.


End file.
